


For Trade

by millenial_falcon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Kink Meme, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Sex for Favors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millenial_falcon/pseuds/millenial_falcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded on Jakku, Poe will do whatever he must to get back to the Resistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Trade

**Author's Note:**

> originally taken from the kink meme prompt at: https://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=198458#cmt198458

He reaches civilization, or what passes for it on this rock, just before dawn. Jakku is a slow planet, turns at nearly half standard time, and he has been walking since the sands were still baked with sunset. Wind-bitten and shivering, mouth dry and body aching from worn off adrenaline, Poe Dameron staggers towards what is unmistakably the outpost’s cantina.

In truth, it's little more than a hovel, clap-board sheets of durasteel welded into a semblance of walls, looking to barely provide shelter from a midday sun. Still better than the ramshackle caravaneer stalls that comprise the better part of the post, still possessing a more stationary feel, and, most importantly, still serving alcohol. Poe rummages in the front of his shirt, thankful for small mercies. The First Order Troopers who detained him had given him only the briefest search, patted him down for weapons, taken his holo, his blaster. But he at least has a miserable handful of credits still, scant pocket change enough to buy himself a drink.

A thin breath of sand swirls under dim light as Poe steps into the cantina, dragging the chill of the desert with him. From the nearest table there's a displeased grunt, a shift and grumbling in a language he doesn't recognize. He does a sweep of the room, alert, noting the positions of the other occupants. Two men, older, with the harsh, leathered look of the desert marking them, are slouched against the back of a poorly repaired booth. A Rodian hunkered over a small table, blue light of a holofeed reflected on her skin. The wiry alien just before him and a bundled figure towards the back both deeply asleep.

Poe crosses in the direction of the bar, clack of credits on the scuffed surface a jolt in the dead night silence. It shakes the bartender out of his doze, turns one cracked eye and a bored, wordless question on him. Poe orders “strong...and cheap,” whatever's local, and the tender scoffs in the back of his throat. He rummages, slaps an open metal tin on the counter and takes half of Poe's credits. The smell coming off the drink is like engine cleaner, questionably fit for human consumption. Poe takes an experimental swig at the bar, chokes on the fist to the chest kick of the drink and the flush of heat to his face, feels it in his teeth. Satisfied nod meets the bartender’s disinterested, almost smug expression and Poe takes the rest of his drink to the booth furthest the door.

The long night's trek aches in his back, his legs as he stretches them out underneath his table. Back to the wall, the rest of the sleepy cantina an array before him, Poe's next two pulls bring warmth back to his limbs, numb his face. He drinks quick, wrecking his throat but tamping down the memories seeping in along the edges of his mind. Washes away the face of that kid, bright-eyed with panic and the thrill of his own hubris, now scattered across a mile of Jakkunni desert. As the gutrot in his stomach guides him down into black sleep, the last things that come to mind are,

“Excellent work, Dameron - the one Trooper in all the Order willing to defect falls right into your lap and you get him killed in less than 30 minutes.”

and,

“This is why I stopped flying with a gunner.”

\--

“Never would’a stopped here if I'd known this place was gonna be so hot.”

“What'd you expect, snow?”

“Not what I meant and you know it, idiot. How’re we supposed to get any decent work done with blasted Order Troopers crawling all over the planet, shooting anything that moves?”

Head hazy, Poe sucks in a slow breath, feeling it rattle down his chest. He shifts, rolls the crick in his neck a little, eyes closed against the little waves of nausea sloshing around his brain. As he slowly eases back into consciousness, his attention remains fixed on the nearby conversation.

“They're not after us, I don't see what's the matter.”

“You ever been on a planet the Imps decided to lock down back in the day? Shit gets ugly real fast and you know these Order goons are just a new band singing the same song. Niima’s blasted, Tuanul’s wiped - we don't get outta here by end of day, everything’s gonna be grounded for a long fucking time.”

“Thought they took off though, didn't they? Heard after they blitzed Niima they all went racing outta here after some girl and a droid.”

Poe inhales sharply, pushing himself upright. Too fast. His head reels and he slumps forward, forehead thudding dully against the table before him as he groans loud. With a slower suck of breath he pulls himself into a sit, eyes squinting open.

The light in the cantina is no brighter, though it has shifted in tone from artificial orange to the pale yellow of the desert sun filtering through ill-aligned slats in the walls. A pair of Chevin are hunkered by the door and the Rodian from the night before has her feet kicked up on her table, in a light doze. At the bar a man with what looks like every worldly possession he owns piled on his back is chatting with the bartender in a hacking voice. Poe sags back against the booth, eyes meeting the hard, appraising look the man sitting nearest him shoots his way.

He's broad-built, unshaven by maybe a day or so, with a mean line permanently knit into his brow. Dark hair, engine grease under his nails, but not quite enough dust built up into the cracks and folds of his leather jacket. At his shoulder sits a bundled up Weequay, seemingly as disinterested in Poe's presence as his companion is engaged.

Poe blinks slowly as the other man sizes him up. He puffs himself up with a deep breath, exposed and small without the comfort security of his old jacket, rubbing his palms over the tops of his thighs for lack of pockets. His eyes slide away from contact - his game face is atrocious enough as it is. The man's attention begins to disengage and Poe sucks another deep breath, shoves himself to his feet. He staggers. Strong and cheap was a mistake. Swaying, he catches the disdainful sneer that flickers over the other man's face.

“You're spacers?” he asks too loud, drawing uncomfortable attention. If he can't lie, he can at least act green - easy to mistake the two. A crooked smile sliding across his face, Poe grabs the nearest chair and drags it up to the other men's table. They both shift, stiff and scowling. 

  
“Who the hell’s asking?”  
“Oh! Sorry,” Poe smiles so wide he squints, shoving his hand into the midst of them in greeting. “Isaiah Andez. Just got here a coupl’a days ago myself. Lost my ship in a bit of trouble - well...” he hitches, winces apologetically, pushes earnest. 

“You got trouble on ya, might wanna bother someone else,” the Weequay draws an arm close to his hip as he speaks. Fingers curling in on themselves, Poe withdraws his hand untouched. The man beside him runs another, slower look over him. A breathless, apologetic laugh shakes out of Poe. He curls in on himself a little, eyes darting quick to the other man's face, glancing off as he rubs the heel of his palm against his thigh.

“Nothing serious,” he keeps the smile locked on his face. “Just got picked off is all…”

“Pirates?”

Poe glances again at the other man, wets his desert-chapped lips. “Yeah,” he has the sense to look a little embarrassed, checks the Weequay’s impassive expression. “Thought I'd try and find work for passage when I got to Niima, y’know?”

He pauses, looks between the two men, wincing around a hopeful smile. “You said it's been blitzed?”

The Weequay shifts, nods. “Yeah...Order Troopers rolled in yesterday, near levelled the place.”

“Why?” the choke in his voice and the tight breath in his throat are genuine as he leans back. “What the hell’s the Order want with this rock?”

“Something about a droid,” the Weequay offers unhelpfully. “Heard someone else took off with it, though. Talk was some local brat.”

Poe swallows and fidgets. If BB’s made it off-planet, all he can do is trust to fate that they'll make their way back to base with whomever they've put their trust in. The Weequay's staring at him and Poe offers a faltering smile, not holding eye contact.

“The Order’s still overrun the place, though?”

That suspicious look narrows. “Left a clean-up crew. You got an interest in the Order?”

“Only in avoiding them,” Poe says blatantly, a sympathetic laugh in his voice. “Y'know how it is trying to do honest work around those types.”

The man beside him chuckles, clapping a hand against his shoulder. “Glad to meet someone with some sense around here,” that hand settles heavy on him. Poe straightens up into the touch as the Weequay shoots a glare at his companion.

“My friend here thinks we oughtta sit around on our hands until those mooks start sniffing around other people's business too,” the man explains, fingers tightening into a grip on the softest part of his shoulder. “Doesn't have the sense to know when it's best to cut and run.”

The Weequay makes a disgusted noise and leans back in his seat, lip curled. Poe rests his elbows on the table, hunching a little and letting a trace of his smile linger on his lips. “So you two’re heading out soon?” He rakes his fingers back through his hair unnecessarily, focussing his full attention on the man beside him. The hand on his shoulder slides to the back of his neck and Poe bites the inside of his cheek, sliding into a different tack with the shift in mood.

“End of the day if I can help it,” the man's lip pulls back in a half smile. Bad teeth, not too bad to look at otherwise. Not great to look at either. About three days in need of a shower, but then Poe isn't presently in the best position to judge. He bows his head just a little, smiling indulgently and exposing his nape. “Got a cruiser a few klicks out with an extra seat if you're interested.”

There's a scornful snort beside them and Poe brightens up, shifts his voice to eager. “You'd really help me out like that? I mean, I'd help you out, of course! I know my way around a few models and if you need a gunner, or…”

“Already got that covered, kid, don't worry,” fingers slide over exposed sliver of skin between Poe's hairline and the collar of his battered shirt. He shifts in his seat, adjusts his legs a little wider, one thigh closer to the man next to him. Smile still fixed, he stretches just barely into his perch on his elbows.

“Fuck’s sake,” the Weequay slaps one palm on the table as he pushes himself up into a stand and stalks off without another word.

“I don't think your friend likes me,” Poe says with an embarrassed laugh, edging a little closer to the other man, eyes bright.

“He'll come around,” the hand leaves his neck, sliding along his back as the man slings his arm around Poe's shoulders. The weight of it puts a little ache into Poe's bruised body, anchors him in place, fingers digging into the sore muscles of his upper arms. “How far were you lookin’ta go?”

Poe laughs soft and short, one hand rubbing at the hangover behind his eyes before coming to rest propping his cheek, small finger playing lightly at the corner of his mouth. “Wherever you wanna take me,” he offers. His eyes pause on the other man's mouth before moving back up to his eyes. “Somewhere with a decent population I'd prefer, but I'm not picky. Hell, you could drop me at the nearest station if you wanted. I'd find my way.”

“Wouldn't wanna put you out like that,” the man says, sitting back with a grunt. “Not if you're useful, at least.”

Poe forces out another laugh, leaning away from the table. “Like I said, however far you wanna take me.” He grins wider, just shy of a cocked eyebrow. The other man frowns thoughtfully, shifts in his seat, fidgets with the waist of his pants.

“Right,” he inhales harsh, lifting himself from his seat. Poe watches him carefully as he readjusts his jacket, looking around the barren cantina. “Well, let's see what you can do.”

He heads for the door without so much as a backwards glance, leaving Poe scrambling out of his chair. Unwatched, the smile drops from his face quickly as he smooths his shirt, wipes his palms against the front of his pants. Trailing a little behind, Poe grabs what's left of the man's drink and throws it back quick, abandoning it to the nearest table as he follows with a hard swallow. 

\--

Sand, fine as dust, swirls in little puffs as Poe drops to his knees. The day isn't quite yet old enough for the heat to have grown unbearable, and a canopy shades the back end of the cantina besides. It's not the most secluded spot, open desert stretching out behind him, but it's out of way from the rest of the outpost. The other man leans against the wall at his back, shuffles his feet a little wider. Poe watches him as he looks over his shoulder, licks his lips, fingers busily untucking his shirt. 

Scooting a little closer into the frame of the man's legs, Poe nudges his hands aside, taking his own grip of the man's belt. He makes quick work of the fly in front of his face, tugging open his pants with short, efficient motions. Eyes flick up to the hungry stare hanging over him and Poe bites his lip, coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His fingers run through coarse, unkempt hair, sliding past his waistband as above him the man rubs his hand over his mouth.

With practiced ease, Poe works the other man's cock out of his pants. The sun edging around the canopy streaks a warm patch down his side and Poe tests the weight of the dick in his hand, cups the man's scrotum, hears the impatient huff of breath above him. The other man is already half hard in his light hold and he fidgets, knees boxing Poe in. Eyes shuttering half shut, gaze sliding just shy of disengaged to focus on the hem of the shirt in front of his face, Poe leans in, presses his lips to the base of the man's cock.

Thick musk, almost strong enough to gag, fills Poe’s nose as he nuzzles into the man's pubic hair, mouths him teasingly. He drags his lips wet over sweat-salted skin. Tongue flat against the head of his dick, Poe risks a quick upward glance, gauging the balance of teasing versus expedience he has to play. Meeting the man's gaze, he closes his mouth around him slowly, letting his eyes roll shut and a pleased, affected moan rise in the back of his throat. He sinks onto him slow, tongue playing over his skin, adjusting to his size.

With an annoyed grunt, the man's hand comes down heavy on the back of Poe’s head, holding him in place as he forces himself down his throat. Poe chokes, fist balled against the man's hip. He presses warning teeth against the root of the man's dick and just barely digs nails into his scrotum before pushing back into his grip, shoving off of him. He coughs, sucking a deep breath. Fingers in his hair clench, pull him back forward. The man's cock rubs against the side of his mouth, his cheek, as he turns shining eyes back up to him.

“Easy buddy,” Poe smiles tense, fighting the glare out of his expression. “I know what I'm doing.”

“Then hurry it up,” the man's voice is tight as he wrenches Poe's hair again. “We don't have all day here.”

Poe stares for a moment, evening his breath out before letting his eyes slide shut. He turns his face into the impatient press of the cock against his cheek. Mouthing the length of it, he shuffles on his knees, readjusts his posture a little before taking the man back in one quick swallow. A sharp breath exhales above him. Poe shifts, finds a better angle. The other man's heady smell overpowers him as he slides his lips further down his length, opens his throat to the dick sinking into him.

Fingers twist into the curls of his hair. The scrape of nails against his scalp and the tiniest twinge of a pull are the only things sending the barest spark of a thrill skittering down his spine. His body is otherwise entirely disinterested. It's not a normally unenjoyable position. He pulls off the man's cock, mouth wet, leaving his skin slick for the next stroke of his lips. But this is undeniably business. The fingers in his hair grip tighter, trying to exert control. Poe digs his thumb into the soft dip of the other man's hip.

He bobs his head easily, favouring speed over technique, the man clearly not the type to savour. The hand on the back of his head is a heavy weight and Poe leans into the act. Lips wrapped around the base of his prick, he nuzzles into the tight wound curls of the man's pubic hair, rolling his dick in the sheath of his throat. He pulls off for a quick gasp, sinks back down with a hard swallow. A rough moan spills from above him as the muscles in his throat contract, squeeze tight. Another bob and the man clutches his hair tighter.

He staggers a step forward, throwing Poe just enough off balance, other hand joining the first to clutch him in place. The heat of his own angry exhale blows back off the man's skin as he grinds himself against Poe’s face, into the wet depths of his throat. Poe's fingers scrabble at the man's hip, the soft flesh of his inner thigh, unable to find enough purchase or balance to recover. Hands on the back of his head anchor him, keep him still. His breath is forced from him in a short burst with the snap of the man's hips that makes his throat spasm. 

A thick grunt answers Poe's hard swallow as he attempts to recover, steal back a scrap of control. He shudders at the twist and clench of fingers in his hair, groans around the cock filling his throat. The other man responds with a sharp hiss, thrusts against him again, and Poe finds enough reserve to relax into it. He sags back into the man's grip, head cradled in his clutching hands, body lax and angled to take him. His breath breaks in little bursts with the jerk of the man's hips and his brow furrows with the focus of not gagging.

Desert heat warms his side. The metal jingle of a belt buckle and the soft, private puffs of breath the man exerts with his effort fill Poe's ears. His fingers slide a stuttering path down the folds of the man's coarse pants. Eyes rolling open slowly, he looks up into the face of the man above him. Slightly flushed, hair fallen loose over his sweat-slick brow, his gaze is locked intently on Poe's lips wrapped around his dick. With a flick of his eyes he registers the look levelled on him, acknowledges it with a short, throaty scoff, a hungry lick of his lips. The hands on the back of Poe's head pull him in, hold him still as the man grinds against his face with a shudder, spurting deep in his throat.

Poe's body heaves, drowning spasms hard enough to push off under the man's hands. He fights down panicked instinct with a groan, keeps his lips tight on the other man, pulls off him enough that the next pulse of cum coats the back of his palate. Fingers fisted around the base of the man's cock, he milks the rest of his orgasm from him with a quick tongue and efficient little strokes of his mouth. The grip in his hair kneads at him, the man's hips stuttering still as Poe drinks him down.

When Poe pulls off the other man, shifts back to sit on his heels, a heavy breath answers him. He waits, eyes down, a tremor in his shoulders and his stomach clenching. His fingers curl into fists atop his thighs. Another weighty sigh, tinged with satisfaction, and then the man's fishing for the waist of his pants, hitching them up and tucking his softening prick away.

Poe pushes himself to his feet, groaning softly at his aching knees, the dull pain in his shoulders and back. He combs his hair back with lightly trembling fingers, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Beside him the man's belt jangles and Poe squints out over the tawny desert stretching away from him.

“I think you could be pretty useful,” the man tells him, tugging his jacket straight with a soft snap. Poe smiles indulgently, eyes skipping over his face to scan the few visible features of the outpost. A hand claps on his shoulder. Licking his lips, Poe turns to face the other man, settles his gaze somewhere below the man's nose, clears his throat.

“Useful enough to get offworld?” his voice comes out trashed, almost unfamiliar to his ears. With a distracted hand he brushes sand off the knees of his pants.

“Absolutely,” that half-tooth grin returns and Poe replies with a tired smirk. The man claps him hard on the shoulder before running his hand up to the back of his neck, squeezing and shaking him a little. “C'mon, let's grab a couple for the road and find my business partner.”

“Yeah,” Poe croaks, nodding under the heavy weight of the man's hand. Body stiff and bruised, mind still jumbled with alcohol and jaw sore, he allows the man to slide his arm around his shoulders, pull him up against his side possessively and lead him out into the desert sun.


End file.
